


i'll only hurt you if you let me

by wintercaps



Series: my boy [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, Fluff, Hair Pulling, Impact Play, Light Bondage, M/M, Masochist Bucky Barnes, Painplay, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Scratching, handjobs, mild breathplay, tiny dom steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 05:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17360327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercaps/pseuds/wintercaps
Summary: The worst part is that Steve does enjoy it. At first, it had been for Bucky; so what, if Bucky wanted to be smacked around? If he wanted Steve to give him a hard time? Steve was gone on Bucky, he had no doubts that he’d go to the ends of the world to make him happy, so roughing him up a bit wasn’t a problem.The problem arose when Steve found himself waking up in the mornings thinking of ways to make Bucky cry and fell asleep thinking of pressing bruises into his pretty hipbones and dreamt about giving him a black eye. He woke from that dream grinding against Bucky, who sleepily smiled down at him as Steve got himself off against his thigh.He murmured, “good dream?” after Steve came, pulling him in close and nuzzling into his hair. Steve nodded, throat tight, because ithadbeen. The thought of giving Bucky a black eye had been enough for him to get off.





	i'll only hurt you if you let me

**Author's Note:**

> more tiny dom steve & masochist bucky! this has been in my google docs for over a month so here u go im tired of looking at it aosdjfgbfdjasdnf

Barely a day goes by without Steve finding a way to hurt Bucky. He feels bad about it, sometimes. Beats himself up on the inside about the fact that he hurt his best guy. His chest feels tight and his stomach sick when he sees the bruises and bites and scratches, knowing that _he_ was the cause of it. Feels even worse about the heat that stirs inside him when he sees the marks.

The worst part is that Steve _does_ enjoy it. At first, it had been for Bucky; so what, if Bucky wanted to be smacked around? If he wanted Steve to give him a hard time? Steve was gone on Bucky, he had no doubts that he’d go to the ends of the world to make him happy, so roughing him up a bit wasn’t a problem.

The problem arose when Steve found himself waking up in the mornings thinking of ways to make Bucky cry and fell asleep thinking of pressing bruises into his pretty hipbones and _dreamt_ about giving him a black eye. He woke from that dream grinding against Bucky, who sleepily smiled down at him as Steve got himself off against his thigh.

He murmured, “good dream?” after Steve came, pulling him in close and nuzzling into his hair. Steve nodded, throat tight, because it _had_ been. The thought of giving Bucky a black eye had been enough for him to get off.

Over time, Steve finds himself feeling less guilty. It helps that Bucky is always so _enthusiastic._ The way he writhes and curses and whines and pleads, _oh Steve, please, make it hurt_ , definitely helps.

Steve doesn’t particularly like hurting Bucky, but maybe it’s okay when they both want it.

And Bucky — he wants it. He very loudly, enthusiastically, insistently wants it. Steve doesn’t mention his dreams or the way he loses himself during the day when he’s meant to be working, getting lost in the very idea of hearing the hurt sounds Bucky makes when Steve rakes his fingers down his chest.

Steve doesn’t mention any of it, but he’s sure that Bucky knows, the way he’s _always_ known whatever it is that Steve’s keeping from him.

Bucky drops to his knees as soon as the door _clicks_ shut behind him. He’s still dressed in his nice jacket and tie and slacks, all done up for his interview down at the local grocer, where he’d insisted on looking his best. Steve closes his sketchbook and puts it aside, rubbing the charcoal off his fingers on his undershirt as he sits up.

Bucky’s looking at him with wide eyes, looking — lost. He’s desperate and he clearly _needs_ and Steve’s always done whatever he can to give Bucky what he needs.

He sits straight against the back of the lounge, clicking his fingers and pointing to his feet. Relief floods Bucky’s expression as he crawls across the hardwood floor.

Affection blooms in Steve’s chest when Bucky kneels between his legs and presses his face into his thigh.

“Bucky….” Steve keps his voice soft, raising a hand to rest against the back of his neck. A shudder runs through Bucky’s body, usually so strong, turned small and fragile and desperate. “What’s wrong, doll?”

Bucky presses his face harder into Steve’s thigh. “Just — a hard day, Stevie, s’all.”

Steve makes a sympathetic sound. “How’d your interview go?”

“Fine, it went fine, they said I was….well-mannered and smart and Mr. Riley said I could start tomorrow morning. It went, yeah, fine.” Bucky shrugs, a sharp jerk of his shoulders.

“That’s good, Buck. I’m real proud of you.” Steve scratches his nails against Bucky’s scalp, smiling to himself at the responding shiver. He’d been growing his nails out, short enough that they wouldn’t disturb him, long enough for Bucky to easily feel it. Bucky tilts his head back into the touch, pretty mouth open and eyes closed, whispering a breathy little “Stevie….”

“What made today so tough, huh?” Steve asks, ignoring Bucky’s desperation for the time being.

Bucky shifts on his knees for a moment. “A lot of people, y’know I don’t like bein’ around a lot of folks.”

Steve _does_ know that. Bucky’s a real social butterfly, in some situations. He flourishes as the main attraction in small groups, but easily crumbles and hides behind a smile as soon as he’s around more than a handful of people, especially those he doesn’t know well. Steve always kept an eye on how Bucky handled certain crowds and was more than willing to act like the antisocial loner dragging Bucky away from those large groups, as long as it kept Bucky happy.

“I know, doll.” Steve soothes, brushing soft locks of hair out of Buck’s eyes. He knows that Bucky wants him to bring him out of his own head, to knock him around and hurt him, but Steve feels a hesitance he hasn’t before. He wants to hold Bucky close and kiss him and take care of him — being rough on him when he’s already in such a fragile state just sits wrong with everything Steve stands for. Kicking a fella when he’s down, even if he wants it, isn’t right.

“Alright.” Steve finally says, keeping one hand on Bucky’s neck while the other tilts his chin up. Bucky looks so hopeful, eyes big and bright. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, doll. I’ll rough you up like you want, but I’m going to be sweet on you too, because you’re my best guy and you deserve it. If I decide I don’t want to hurt you in a certain way, you can ask for it, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna give it to you. You understand?”

Bucky nods so frantically, Steve is almost surprised he doesn’t hurt himself. “Yes, oh, Steve that’s _perfect_ , that’s so good, thank you Stevie, y’always know just what I need.”

Steve shushes him, but he can’t stop the warmth that blooms inside his chest at the words. Of course he knows what Bucky needs; that’s how they work, each of them knowing what the other needs and so very desperate to provide.

Steve moves quickly to loosen Bucky’s tie and slip it over his head, dropping it in his lap for the time being.

Bucky shuffles in closer for Steve to have easier access undoing the buttons on his shirt.

The shirt is folded carefully and set aside, followed by his undershirt. Bucky shivers under Steve’s gaze, chest bare. For a moment, Steve considers leaving him in his slacks, but he has such a fondness for leaving marks on those thighs. Bucky stands up to strips out of his slacks and hands them to Steve almost shyly, looking relieved when Steve nods at his underwear as well. Only when Bucky is completely bare, shifting from one foot to the other nervously, clothes folded neatly on the free cushion, does Steve nod for him to sink back to his knees. Steve probably could have made him fold his own clothes, but something about taking care of his best guy’s clothes makes his chest feel fuzzy and warm.

“Hands.” Steve says, lifting the tie.

Bucky, so very well behaved, holds his hands out in front of himself, wrists up. The pleased sound Steve makes at his obedience has Bucky preening. Steve carefully ties his wrists together, tucking two fingers between skin and silk to ensure that isn’t too tight.

Bucky could get out of it easily if he wanted to, and it would only take a few tugs for it to come free. The first time Steve had tried tying Bucky’s wrists, they’d used a length of twisted rope that quickly frayed and left abrasions on his skin. Bucky had insisted that he’d enjoyed it, but Steve wasn’t blind; he saw how much Bucky preferred the softer material around his wrists, and how he absolutely melted at having to put effort into keeping still enough for his binds to stay in place.

Steve rewards him with a rake of nails down the exposed length of his torso, delighting in the responding gasp and full-bodied shiver.

Bucky lets his hands fall into his own lap as he shifts for a moment, getting more comfortable, clearly settling in for being on his knees for an extended period of time. He looks so pretty, naked and on his knees just because Steve wants him that way, hands all tied up. Steve’s cock is already showing interest, but that’s not what it’s about, not yet. It won’t be anything sexual unless Bucky expresses interest for it to be that way. Sometimes he stays soft while Steve roughs him up, separating the submission and sex into two distinct actions. If Bucky just wants to be taken out of his own head, Steve will do that for him. If he wants Steve’s hand or mouth or cock, he’ll do that for him as well.

“Good boy.” Steve says simply, tapping Bucky’s cheek with the back of his hand in a weak imitation of what he knows he’ll be doing soon enough. Bucky had shaved that morning before his interview, and his skin was still soft and smooth under Steve’s caresses. Steve smiles at the thought of being able to mark Bucky up. He would have to keep most of it below clothes, especially with Bucky working somewhere more respectable than the past few years down at the docks. Bruises and split lips would have gotten him teasing about getting into fights from other workers before, but his new coworkers probably wouldn’t react as kindly to black eyes.

“Thank you, Steve.” Bucky says quietly, ducking his head. Steve raises his chin with the end of a finger, cataloguing pink cheeks, hazy eyes, parted lips. They’ve barely started and Bucky’s already falling hard. It always hits Steve like a blow to the chest, just how much Bucky loves the way Steve treats him. In their day to day, Bucky is the provider — Steve’s job as an illustrator pays decently, but Bucky is the one who truly brings in enough money for rent and electricity and most of their meals. It frustrates Steve, knowing that he can’t take care of his best guy the way he wants to. But this, _this_ is something that only Steve can give Bucky.

Bucky had admitted it to him a while back, wrapped in Steve’s arms and all bruised up, whispering into the darkness of their room that getting roughed up by random fellas hadn’t done it for him the way it did when Steve was the one hurting him. It made something rough and vicious and so very _pleased_ spread from his gut to the tips of his fingers, knowing that he was the only one who could take care of Bucky like this.

Steve repeats, “Good boy.” as he leans forward to dig a knuckle into the notch of Bucky’s pronounced collarbones. Bucky gasps, freezing for a moment, before releasing the tension with a drawn out moan. The pressure of Steve’s knuckle provides nothing more than the threat of restricted breathing and a hint of pain, and yet Bucky melts under the touch.

Steve works him over, pressing bites all over his chest that leave deep teeth marks and start to bloom shades of purple and red, scratching blunt nails down his back and breaking skin, pinching at his soft stomach as he whispers sweet words. Bucky is all toned, lean muscles and barely-concealed strength in his arms and thick thighs, but he always melts so sweet under Steve’s cruelty.

“Only hitting you once, baby.” Steve keeps his voice firm, no room for arguments. Bucky still pouts and makes a frustrated sound. “Relax your jaw for me. Good boy. Deep breath.”

The sudden touch of Steve gripping his jaw with a steadying hand has Bucky jerking minutely, whimpering in the next moment at the sharp crack of Steve’s hand against his cheek. “Thank you.” Bucky croaks, blinking tears from the corners of his eyes. His cheek is already flushing a bright pink from the impact. They’d both been in enough fights in their lives, most of them consisting of Bucky pulling Steve out of them, to know that clenching teeth only resulted in a bad kind of pain and more often than not rattled the teeth in an extremely unpleasant way. When they’d first started doing this, only a handful of months ago, Bucky had tended to tense before Steve slapped him. He’s better at getting himself to relax into it, now, but Steve’s verbal reminder always helps, and the accompanying praise sends him flying, dazed eyes and soft little gasps.

Steve returns to pressing bruises into pretty hipbones with a tight grip that has Bucky shifting and gasping at the pain.

Bucky’s soft and pliant and whining quietly, an endless chant of _Steve Steve please oh thank you Steve fuck Stevie please,_ when Steve leans back. Bucky sways forward after him desperately. He already looks a mess, hair soft and tangled from Steve yanking on it, lips kiss bruised, tear tracks staining pink cheeks. Steve thinks that Bucky’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen as he lifts a foot and plants it against a strong shoulder, pushing enough to send him onto his back.

Bucky gasps, “Fuck, Steve!” as he hits the floor, and Steve is momentarily thankful that their downstairs neighbours had taken a week long trip to see their more extended family. Steve rises from the chair just to fall to his knees between Bucky’s thighs, pushing them apart and settling between them. Bucky had done a good job so far, ignoring his cock, focusing instead on the pain Steve so kindly gives him. The fact that he’s hard lets Steve know how he wants to be treated, and Steve curses as his own cock thickens in his slacks. Bucky wants to be taken apart, touched and praised and, more than likely, fucked.

Bucky arches and whines when Steve scratches at his navel roughly. “ _Steve.”_

“I’m going to hit you.” Steve says, grinning despite himself at the rough jerk of Bucky’s hips under him. Bucky whimpers a desperate litany of _Steve please please do it hurt me oh_ and Steve shushes him, “I know, sweetheart, whatever you want, but if it hurts more than feels good y’gotta tell me.”

Bucky nods. “I will, Steve, I will.”

“You’ll what?” Steve has learnt that sometimes, when Bucky really starts floating, he’s beyond properly processing. Getting him to repeat things back tends to bring him down enough for him to understand what’s going to happen to him.

Bucky swallows audibly. “I’ll — I’ll tell you if it hurts in a way that don’t feel good, Stevie, I _will,_ promise I will.”

“Good boy, honey, doin’ so well.” Steve encourages, curling his hand into a fist. Bucky moans at the very sight, tossing his head back. The first punch is gentle, compared to what his best guy wants, but Steve knows that it’s best to work him up to it.

Most of the punches land on his shoulders, across his chest, down by his abdomen. Steve knows basic anatomy, enough to know where to stay away from for fear of actual damage. Bucky wants bruises, not broken bones or internal bleeding or ruptured lungs.

Bucky suddenly grunts in a not-good way, gasping, “Knuckles, Steve — ‘s bad.”

“Sorry, doll.” Steve leans down to press a barely-there kiss to the tender flesh of his chest, no more than a brush of his lips against the place that is sure to be aching. Bucky hates it when Steve accidentally hits him with his knuckles, and Steve is sure to be extra careful after that.

Bucky’s upper body is covered in love bites and patches of red skin that will bruise up all pretty within the next day or so. There’s a set of teethmarks on his wrist, already reddening up, and Steve should probably feel bad about it; he’d decided to keep any marks out of sight. It’s just that something about the thought of his mark on Bucky’s body, somewhere that can only be seen if someone is looking for it — it does _things_ to Steve’s mind, leaves him growling low in his throat and rolling his hips forward into Bucky. Steve is clothed where Bucky is bare, it can’t be comfortable to have such rough fabric sliding over his dick, but Bucky still moans like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever felt.

All loose-limbed and pliant, it’s easy for Steve to sit back and hike Bucky’s legs over his shoulders. Bucky looks messed up already, red faced and teary eyed. The sight of Steve leaning over him so slightly, encased by Bucky’s own thighs, has him tossing his head back and gasping a broken version of Steve’s name, hands twitching within their binds on his chest.

The first bite to the inside of soft thighs has Bucky sobbing, arching so hard his back has to ache from it.

“Such a pretty boy.” Steve hisses, digging his nails in, then deeper when Bucky whines and squirms.

“Oh fuck, Steve — “ Bucky wheezes when Steve leans in to lick at the indents left behind. Steve feels filthy, pressing another bite next to the marks he’s already left, sucking and licking at the soft flesh in his mouth. Something about his thighs drives Steve up the wall, golden skinned everywhere else, pale and smooth where Steve finds himself biting and pinching and scratching. Bucky whines, a truly pathetic sound, when Steve slaps at the inside of his left thigh, mouth still attached to the softness of his right. There’ll be bruises there soon enough, covering the expanse of creamy skin, and Steve’s cock throbs at the very thought of it. He loves it, fuck, he _loves_ it, loves leaving those marks behind and knowing that he was the cause of them, loves the way it makes him feel like Bucky is his. Bucky gives it up so easily, _asks_ to be hurt, and Steve takes care of his sweet boy the best he can.

“Steve — Steve, please?” Bucky all but sobs, rocking his hips pointedly.

“Of course, honey.” Steve wraps a hand around his cock, stroking him soft and sweet in contrast to the rough graze of teeth over his thigh. “Is that good, sweetheart?”

Bucky nods, crying out as Steve grabs and pinches at his thighs. “Yeah, ‘s good, Stevie, fuck, feels so good.”

Bucky’s noises get higher in pitch but not volume as Steve works him over, till he’s gasping and whining all sweet, prettier than any girl Steve’s ever heard him bring home.

“You wanna come, babydoll?” Steve drags nails down the crease where thigh meets ass, and Bucky jerks away from the sensation, pushing back into it a moment later.

“No, not yet.” Bucky’s voice is all small as he shakes his head. “Want you inside me when I come. Want you — wan’ you to fuck me, Stevie, please?”

Steve groans, nuzzling into a pretty hipbone. Bucky sounds so goddamn sweet when he begs. “Anything you want, doll.” he assures. “I gotta go, uh, slick. I’ll be back in a second.”

Bucky nods, tilting his head back and taking several steady breaths as Steve removes those gorgeous thighs from around his shoulders. Before he leaves, Steve hesitates for a moment, then undoes the tie around his wrists. He doesn’t feel right about leaving Bucky bound all by himself, even if only for a few moments while he runs to their room.

They keep a tub of vaseline next to Bucky’s pomade jar, on a chest of drawers pushed into the corner of their room with a cheap old mirror on top. Bucky primps and preps himself in front of that mirror every morning, usually while Steve watches from his place curled up on their bed. They technically have two beds, to keep up appearances just in case — it’s been over a year since the last time they slept on separate beds but if someone came in and found two fellas living in an apartment with only one bed, it would cause trouble. They can excuse sleeping in the same room as being unable to afford a place with anything more than that, but having the single bed isn’t something as easily excusable.

It’s the tail end of fall, winter fast approaching, and Steve grimaces as he notes that they’ll have to buy some more vaseline soon. Cold weather is always harshest on Steve, leaving him bedridden most of the time, and the least he can do is have soft lips for his best guy to kiss before he heads off in the mornings, with orders for Steve to stay in bed and take care of himself till Bucky gets home. Steve usually ignores him anyways and putters around their apartment coughing up a storm with aching joints, but still, he likes his good morning kisses well enough and cracked lips won’t do.

And, well, there’s also the fact that they use quite a large amount of vaseline with how often they mess around together. Sometimes Bucky doesn’t want sex while he’s being hurt, and sometimes he doesn’t want to be hurt while they’re having sex, but that doesn’t mean they don’t fool around on a near daily basis.

“Got it.” Steve calls as he steps back into the living room, coming to a stop. “ _Fuck._ ”

Fuck, indeed. Bucky’s always been pretty, even when he was going through that awkward phase where he hadn’t quite grown out of the baby fat on his cheeks and was more long gangly limbs than anything else, but it feels like he gets more and more breathtaking every day. Steve sees Bucky on his back on their hardwood floors, one hand grabbing roughly at the skin of his own thigh, the other clearly between his legs. His cock is so hard it looks almost painful, flushed the same shade as Bucky’s tearstained cheeks, all but dripping precum that slicks his stomach and shines in the late afternoon light. Bucky completely bypasses it to reach down further, and Steve can see his fingers are slick as well, probably with spit, or — fuck, his own precum, that thought really shouldn’t get Steve as hot as it does.

Their front door leads directly into the living room, and Steve glances at said door, trying to remember whether or not Bucky locked it when he came in.

Their neighbors are nice and everyone respects each other’s privacy, but it wouldn’t do to have someone barge in to find Bucky in direct view, splayed out all naked with Steve standing over him. Bucky makes a frustrated sound when Steve steps past him to _snick_ the lock into place.

“Hush up, you.” Steve scolds, putting his hands on his hips with a mock scowl that has Bucky laughing breathlessly.

“I _would_ if you’d just get over here already.” Bucky grins.

Steve shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “Bossy.” he says even as he drops to his knees next to Bucky’s hips, leaning over to lap over a pretty pink nipple. Bucky surges up into the feeling with a string of broken off curses. “Aw, not so talkative now, huh?”

Bucky huffs, whacking at his shoulder with the hand that he’d been using to press bruises into his own thighs in Steve’s absence. Steve, so very kind, takes over.

The sound Bucky makes at the pressure on the backs of his thighs has Steve squirming, vaguely uncomfortable at how his dick presses against his slacks. He almost wants to take them off but fuck if he doesn’t love the thought of Bucky all naked and vulnerable while Steve is in such complete control. Bucky’s thighs will be black and blue when they’re done with them.

“So pretty, honey, look at you, never seen anythin’ so sweet.” Steve says under his breath, unscrewing the jar of vaseline and dipping his fingers in.

Bucky whines, “ _Steve_.” at the first touch of the cold substance, wriggling. Steve shushes him, grazing his teeth over a nipple that’s quickly flushing red under the abuse. Bucky’s nipples aren’t as sensitive as Steve’s own but it still takes him apart to have them played with.

Bucky groans, the lowest sound he’s made in a while, when Steve smoothly slides a finger in him. They fuck too often for Bucky not to be easy, and Steve ruts forward at the thought of his sweetheart being so soft and open and ready for him all the time.

Bucky spreads his legs wider as Steve readies him, gasping and cursing at every added finger. Steve has artist’s fingers — long but thin, he always likes to get at least three fingers in him when they do this. No matter how much Bucky likes the pain of the stretch when Steve first pushes in, there’s a line between good pain and bad pain, and Steve doesn’t want to do anything to cross it.

“My sweet boy.” Steve mutters, biting at the swell of his pec one last time as he undoes his belt. The sound has Bucky shuddering, always so wonderfully eager. “Sweet sweet boy, sound so good, could listen to you forever, y’know?”

Bucky squirms about till he can hook his own knees around Steve’s shoulders again, drawing him in with a heel to his lower back.

“Impatient.” Steve laughs, even as he shuffles closer. The fabric of his slacks are sure to irritate the backs of Bucky’s thighs, rub them raw and red, and there’s another thought that gets Steve hot under the collar.

“And you’re a tease.” Bucky fires back, sticking his tongue out. Steve rolls his eyes. The impact of his hand against Bucky’s ass sends an audible _crack_ throughout the room, followed smoothly by Bucky moaning and wriggling at the burst of pain.

“Oh,” Bucky sighs, raising his arms to clutch at Steve’s shoulders. They’re the broadest part of him, and Bucky’s always had a fascination for hanging off Steve’s shoulders, since as long as they can both remember. “‘s real good, Stevie, do it again?”

Steve smiles, feeling all fond and in love, and slaps at his ass again, slightly higher.

“Mm, thank you.” Bucky lifts himself enough to press a gentle kiss to Steve’s lips, and it hits him that it’s their first kiss since Bucky walked out the door that morning, he hasn’t kissed Bucky _all day_. Steve licks into that pretty mouth just as he presses into that pretty ass, leaving Bucky gasping and whining and his hands scrabbling desperately at the fabric of Steve’s undershirt.

Steve knows that his back will probably end up aching, just as much as Bucky’s will. Being fucked on a hard floor will give Bucky the perfect excuse to pout and insist that Steve massage the knots out of his spine, and afterwards he’ll hold Steve close and use those nice hands to take care of the pain in Steve’s back.

Even if the promise of a massage wasn’t enough to make the aching joints worthwhile, Bucky’s reaction to being taken in such a way is more than enough. He screws up his face and still manages to looks pretty, reduced to moans and half formed words and clutching at Steve’s shoulders hard enough that Steve can feel nails digging through his undershirt.

Bent near in half, Bucky sobs with every thrust, and pleads _Steve Steve Stevie can you_ — and Steve has to slam a palm over Bucky’s gorgeous mouth to muffle his shout when he comes at the touch of Steve’s other hand on his cock. Steve works him through it, pushing him into shaking oversensitivity.

He trembles under Steve, brows drawn close, and Steve knows when his best guy is on the verge of calling out as the overstimulation turns to good pain turns to bad pain. Steve pulls away as Bucky opens his mouth, finishes himself off over the slick puddle already on soft skin.

Bucky looks _wrecked,_ all pliant and blissed out.

Steve tucks himself back into his slacks as he settles on his side next to Bucky, curled up on a strong chest, knowing how much Bucky needs the weight of Steve’s body to feel grounded afterwards. Sure enough, Bucky pulls him closer, so desperate for physical contact.

Steve knows better by now than to leave Bucky alone after hurting him. The come-down always leaves him drained and quiet and spiralling if Steve isn’t there to take care of him. The sweat on their skin has dried by the time Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead in his nonverbal signal that he’s ready to be moved.

Bucky heavily leans into Steve’s side as he’s lead into their room, and pouts but doesn’t protest when Steve pulls away to wrap his best guy up in their warmest blanket. He ends up with just his head poking out, still pouting.

“Kiss?” Bucky asks hopefully.

That familiar _warmgoodlight_ feeling spreads through Steve’s chest. “Sure, doll.” he agrees, leaning in to kiss him. This kiss is much softer, without the frantic desperation to get as much bodily contact as possible behind it.

Bucky looks calmer when Steve draws back. He stays seated on their bed, bundled in a thick blanket, as Steve wanders around their apartment. The pile of clothes Steve had left on the otherwise untouched couch cushion find their way back into their drawers, his art supplies packed away properly. He turns the stove on to boil water before he dampens a cloth and grabs a bowl that he carries back into their room.

Bucky smiles at him, all soft and sleepy around the edges. “Hey, Stevie.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Steve kneels beside the bed. Bucky easily lets him tug the blanket away, relaxing into the touch as Steve cleans up the mess on his stomach. He grimaces away from the touch between his legs but otherwise sits still as Steve tidies him up.

Bucky is usually a chatterbox afterwards, when Steve takes care of him. Steve tries to find a way to ask if he messed up, didn’t give Bucky what he needed, was too rough on him —

“Stop thinkin’ so loud, you dope.” Bucky huffs. “You didn’t do anythin’ wrong, so don’t go thinkin’ like that.”

Of course, Bucky always knows what he’s hiding.

Steve shrugs, dropping the damp cloth into the bowl. “You’re bein’ real quiet, is all. Just wanted to know what’s goin’ on in that big ol head of yours.”

Bucky falls silent again, as Steve traces the marks he’d left behind. Again he feels that stirring of guilt. Bucky looks like he’d gotten into a back alley fight with a feral cat, all scratches and bruises and vicious looking marks. Steve looks at the pain he caused and it gets him so hot he thinks he could go again, if Bucky showed any hints at wanting to do so.

“Just feel bad, I guess. Asking you to do this, when it’s real clear you don’t want to.” Bucky finally says. He ducks his head, hunches his shoulders, tries to make himself as small a target as possible.

Ah. Well then, he doesn’t _always_ know what Steve is hiding.

“Bucky,” Steve clears his throat. “Buck, doll, that ain’t true, I want this just as much as you do. I just don’t like knowing that you’re hurt. I like knowin’ that I’m the one you come to for this, and I like seein’ you like that — don’t give me that look, you know I do — it just makes me feel guilty, sometimes, ‘s all. Especially guilty that I _do_ like it so much.”

Bucky leans forward till he can rest his head against Steve’s shoulder. “I like that you like it.”

Steve winds his fingers into soft hair, giving a barely perceptible tug. “I know.” he smiles at Bucky huff of laughter. “I’m making pasta for dinner.” Steve presses the words to Bucky’s temple. “Y’wanna come sit in the kitchen with me?”

Bucky nods, already moving to shuffle out of the room, still wrapped in the blanket. Steve trails after, so wonderfully in love with everything Bucky Barnes.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [tumblr](https://starduststeverogers.tumblr.com) uwu! im always takin prompts & ready to Talk


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